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I’m downtown at our local upscale men’s clothing store with the guys in the wedding party, trying on everything in the store with no success. Jim is busy helping Josephine at the new site and will come by later with Stella to get fitted for whatever I pick out. Seeing how I’m tweaking out over this, it’s probably a good thing my future father-in-law isn’t present.
“Maybe if you didn’t have catcher mitts for hands, you could manage to button a shirt,” Punk teases behind me.
I glower at him in the mirror, giving him my thick middle finger. “Another word and I’ll shove it up your ass.”
Punk and the rest of my wedding party laugh.
After I manage to finish buttoning my shirt, the sales associate holds out the suit jacket for me to put my arms through. I shake out my arms and tug the coat closed. It’s fucking suffocating. I look like an over-stuffed sausage with my muscles straining against the fabric. I go to lift my arms and can’t, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to see the outline of my cock down my leg either.
The clerk gives me a wide smile. “How does it feel, Captain Tabares?”
“Like I’m wearing a straitjacket that’s slowly cutting off my blood supply to my extremities. Why is everything so tight?”
This is the seventh suit I’ve tried, and each one feels like my balls are being smashed together and my arms and legs are going to rip through the seams. Each suit got more restrictive as we went. This last one is by far the snuggest.
The sales associate sighs. “It’s formfitting and all the rage, Mr. Tabares. It looks striking on you.”
“Striking or not, it doesn’t fit. My lungs feel like their being pressed, my arms are stuck to my sides like a penguin, my dick is embedded in my leg, and my balls are being squished up against my taint so far, I might as well shove them in my ass to give myself breathing room.”
My men burst out laughing.Glad my discomfort is humorous.
Chase cocks his head at me. “Why does this image remind me of the movieTommy Boy?”
“Piss off, Chase.” I actually want to laugh at his reference. I do feel like a fat guy in a little coat, though I’m not overweight in the slightest—more like a giant man in an elf coat.
The salesman looks disappointed as he frowns. “This one’s not a contender?”
“Definitely not,” I say with finality.
Punk groans and throws his head back. “Fuuuck! I’d rather be shopping with Jo. At least she’s fast and knows what she wants—in and out.”
Frustrated, I attempt to run my hands down my face, but the damn jacket stops me. “This would be easier if Josephine would tell me what she wants, but no, she wantsmeto pick it out. Josephine is the love of my life. I want to get this right for her. She deserves everything to be perfect, which includes all of us in tailored suits.”
Gauge lays his hands on my shoulders. “We’ll sit here and help you get it right.” He looks over his shoulder at Jared and Ziggy. “Hey, love birds! Isn’t this your area of expertise?”
Ziggy makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “Why? Because we’re gay, we should have good fashion sense?”
“Awkwarrrd,” Reaper says in a high voice.
“That’s wrong on so many levels,” Jared chastises, leaning into Ziggy’s embrace.
I shake my head at Gauge. “Bro, you best proceed with caution.”
Gauge waves his hand at the two lovers. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me they can’t dress you? Well, not you, Ziggy. You dress as shitty as the rest of us. But Jared looks like someGQlumberjack who stepped off the runway.”
Everyone looks at Jared. Gauge is right. Jared dresses to impress.
“Thank you?” Jared says, with his brows pulled together. He leans over to Ziggy. “Are lumberjacks sexy?”
“Very sexy, babe,” Ziggy reassures, drawing him closer.
“Well, don’t hold out on us, bro. Pick something out for Atlas,” Punk says.
“I don’t wear suits,” Jared tries to reason. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
We all grumble with defeat.
Annoyed, I try to free myself of the suit I’m stuffed in. The tailor standing next to the sales associate steps forward and helps assist me. He tries to slide it down my arms from behind, but it gets stuck around my biceps. The two of us must look comical, like the most bizarre match of tug of war ever. The tailor tugs and tugs but no luck. The jacket is stuck on me like a second skin. “You have got to be shitting me!”
